


That Which on the Mind Dwells (why can't i stop dreaming?)

by Metronome_I_Hear



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Angst, Blood, Cuz I am, Don't say I didn't warn you, Dreams, Gen, Gift Fic, Gore, Hallucinations, Imagery, Italics Overload, Literary References & Allusions, Nightmares, Poetry, Reference to canon torture, Symbolism, This is pretty graffic, because I can't seem to write anything without it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 18:59:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12019008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metronome_I_Hear/pseuds/Metronome_I_Hear
Summary: He doesn't remember, doesn't want to remember, but his mind seems to want him to see it anyways.(Or: Haise dreams. They aren't happy dreams)





	That Which on the Mind Dwells (why can't i stop dreaming?)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MustardPirate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MustardPirate/gifts).



> This is probably one of the darkest things I've written in a long time. I'm not sorry. Written for MustardPirate as a thank you for my first ever gift fic! Hope it meets your expectations, and sorry it took so long to post it! I kinda got side traced in the Ghost Hunt fandom for a while, and then some stuff IRL popped up... but it's done now! Enjoy!
> 
> [Tumblr](https://metronomeihear.tumblr.com)

A forest grows and he’s ripped to pieces. Blood splatters, bone breaks. Organs rupture, muscles ache. Mind shatters shatters shatters.

He is strong, so strong, and he pulls himself together, gathering piece by piece, every piece of entrails, the stench filling the air, every piece of flesh, ligaments, bone fragments, veins and skin.

And--

And it begins with a tree. It is a golden tree, a god tree, a tree that’s devouring the world with it’s roots.

( _Oh can’t you see this tree with golden leaves, where Sunshine filters through? And he’s laughing and laughing and Sunshine is smiling and--_ )

In that underground field of flowers, where the pale figure of Death stands, this. This is where he meets his end.

( _Sunshine, dear Sunshine, oh where did you go?_ )

.

Sweet blood, like candy licorice, trailing from his lips, dripping from his chin, falling onto his red red red fingers, covering them in sickly sweet sour rotten blood.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” she asks, the wolf, the hunter ( _she who chases and chases and chases_ ) who wraps her arms around him, nothing but temptation, a representation of what could have been had he not--

( _Oh, look at this golden tree, this god tree, that devours the world with its roots_ )

There is a body on the ground before him, it’s chest ripped right wide open, rib caged snapped and shattered and bone marrow so tasty on his tongue. He digs his arms into the flesh, burying his hands and--

The organs spill onto the ground, the foul smell of torn intestines telling him he should revolt, should recoil, should scramble backwards screaming, wishing wishing wishing to be anywhere but there, and yet--

Why does it taste so good?

( _Click click click, thousand knives on the floor, clatter clatter, Thump thump, his heartbeat loud in his ear, there’s something in his ear, there is a centipede in his EaR, oH gOd iT HUrT, mAKe iT sToP_ )

.

They are family. Or something.

( _Not quite right, with fingers in the fridge like fries and coffee colored maroon_ )

And he is safe.

( _His stomach was torn open the other day, torn in two. His intestines spilled out into the ground, and he ripped his opponent's head off with one hand holding them in_ )

And he is home.

( _Where are you, Sunshine? Where are--_ )

.

There are gods watching over the world, from somewhere up high in the heavens they stare. They look down with cold eyes, gleaming with want of war. To where shall we wander? He thinks to himself. He reached up and up and up, begging and wishing, falling to his knees and praying and--

God is dead and we killed him. God was slaughtered by our hand, and it is his blood that rains down, plastering our hair to our face. You and I, me and you, and those around us who clamor for attention.

( _Can’t you see! I’m still waiting!_ )

( _No. You’re not. You’re just dreaming_ )

And there, behind him, flowers like wings start to grow, their roots digging into his skin, anchoring themselves to his bone. They intertwine with his sinewy muscle, curl around his veins. They wrap around his heart, digging in and in and in and--

It is beautiful. So beautiful.

( _Follow me into battle, for I say we will be victorious_ )

( _Follow me into battle, for I say it will be glorious_ )

.

There was a dream once, where he dreamt of fire and ash and darkness. Of a land where the stars did vanish, and left an empty, gaping hole where they once were, tiny pinpricks in the fabric covering the world.

The air leaks out, from those holes, bit by bit by bit, until there is nothing left.

And he is left choking.

.

One step, then two, then three and four and five. And flesh slides off of bone, with each foot placed upon its corpse. There is a mountain of them there, piled up higher and higher and higher and he--

He is the one who put them there.

( _And it was glorious_ )

He can’t stop now, not after he’s come so far, not after he’s fallen so far.

He can’t remember what apples taste like anymore.

.

There are flowers that bloom with each step he takes. They’re beautiful, so beautiful, until they shudder, droop, and sprout again in a brilliant shade of red.

Blood drips onto them, and they twist and twirl, a morbid kind of dance. Arms wrap around him, cradling him, like a mother does her son, and another strand of hair turns white.

It was glorious, he thinks, when the sun rises over the colosseum, and the people fall to the ground. When their bones shatter and break and the rivers will run red. When the people pick up their weapons, desperation in their eyes, breath harsh, bodies glowing glowing glowing. ( _Like wings of fire and tails of light which tear and rip and rend_ )

Another toe is cut off. ( _It grows back again_ )

What’s One Thousand Minus Seven?

( _The clowns look down from the balconies, and they won’t stop laughing and laughing and laughing at the slaughter_ )

( _It was glorious_ )

.

And Death stares him in the eye, one cut on his cheek. Even gods bleed, he thinks, laughter bubbling up from deep within. Gods will bleed, just like men. Gods will bleed, will bleed, will bleed, just like men.

And it was glorious.

( _Like the forest grown from nothing, sprouting from around him and reaching up and up and up. It grows higher and higher until he can’t see the top_ )

( _And there is a golden tree, a god tree, one that devours the world with it’s roots_ )

( _And Sunshine filters in, dancing on his skin, and for once, he feels at home_ )

It is in this underground field of flowers, where the pale figure of Death stands across from him, that he meets his end.

.

( _Haise woke with a gasp, shivering, shaking_ )

( _“Just a dream,” he whispers, ignoring the screaming of a past he’s not sure he wants to remember. “Just a dream.”_ )

( _It’s not_ )

.

.

.


End file.
